


Reconciliation

by FrimReaper



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Gen, I'm just here to post WAW fics and have a good time i didn't want this, oh no i made myself sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:24:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrimReaper/pseuds/FrimReaper
Summary: Overwhelmed with grief after telling Mason what happened at the Arctic Circle, Reznov reconciles with an old friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I actually uploaded a different version of this fic before but I wanted to add some lines to it, so I deleted the old one.

Why did he tell Mason what had happened to Dimitri.

He knew opening that wound would not make things any better, only made them worse.

Now he was alone.

Again.

 

* * *

 

 

He held his face in his hands, trying hard to steel his nerves. He cannot keep doing this, opening up his weakness to other people. He tried so hard to forget what happened to his friend, to erase that horrible image from his mind.

But he cannot.

Mason left him alone to his demons, sensing that he was not emotionally stable, filled with grief.

Finally steeling himself, he raised his head, staring into the fire, tears shining by the light, until he noticed something unusual.

Bloody bootprints, pressed into the mud. Leading him into the shadows.

A sudden urge to follow the bootprints struck him, to find out it’s destination, to find out who made them overfilling the grief that had taken over him.

His mind screamed out to stay where he was near the fire, to not leave the warmth and light behind, while his heart, the traitorous muscle, softly urged him to move forward.

He felt afraid.

He had fought Fascists that were out for his blood. He has been stabbed and shot at many times, laughing off the pain.

_I’m not afraid._

He let his feet take him to the edge of the darkness, staring into it. Taking one last look into the fire, he turned his back and followed the bloody bootprints.

_I’m not afraid._

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn't sure how long he walked, the darkness taking away all sense of time. Without the fire, he had gone numb. Attempting to warm himself, he rubbed his hands together, and brought them to his mouth to warm them.

Eventually, the darkness melted away, and gave shape to a small room,a bench in the corner, away from the familiar landmarks of Vorkuta that he had gotten used to.

He sat down, checking the muddy ground to see if the bloody bootprints were still there.

They were not.

Holding his head in his hands,he cursed himself for not listening to his mind and following the bootprints, the rewards of his adventure seemingly fruitless.

He stood, wiping his eyes. He was getting even colder, a sign that did not mean well.

He looked up.

He was not alone.

 

* * *

 

 

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Before him was his strength and weakness, His closest friend and comrade in arms.

“Dimitri,” he breathes, in shock of seeing a face he has not seen for over a decade.

He is wearing his Red Army Uniform. He is not bleeding. His face is not burned. He stands, with both arms crossed behind his back. He is as pale as snow, save for his green eyes, which is seemly glowing in the darkness. He stares ahead at him, green eyes staring straight into his eyes, showing no emotion.

_“Like a Dead man,” He realizes._

“What is all this,” he pleads, tears threatening to spill down his face. “What is this war? Why am I here?”

Silence.

“Was I wrong to tell Mason? Is that what you are here to tell me?”

Silence from the dead.

Anger replaced sorrow.

“Tell me! _Damn you!_ ”

Nothing but the steady stare of those green eyes.

“I have done all of this for you. I have fought and clawed my way just to survive here, and now, I am hated, feared, and respected. And for what?”- He jabbed his finger into his own chest- “I am not who they think I am.”

Tear filled hazel eyes stared back into steady green ones.

“Please, just say something.”

He did not answer back.

Overfilled with grief and desperately needing answers, Viktor Reznov, the killer of hundreds of Fascists, the bearer of one thousand ghosts, clasping his hands together, kneeled before his greatest strength and worst weakness.

Green eyes followed his descent.

“Please,” he whimpered, closing his eyes.

“What I do, I would have told you and you would tell me what not to do.”

He opened his eyes, staring straight into those eyes that were filled with anger.

“I would _never_ have taken advantage of a man who had put his trust in me, Nor would I ever have ever cause such pain among my own comrades, nor manipulate an entire _gulag_ into my favour, just to have many killed without even experiencing a slight taste of freedom.”

As he watched his friend tear into him, anger clouding his emotions, he hung his head and silently sobbed, body shuddering violently. The one man who he cared about, the one man who he is willing to wage a war for, has turned his back to him.

“Why will you not look at me?”

“Because I am afraid.”

“You have nothing to be afraid of, except for the demon that you have created in your own mind.”

He raised his head, wet eyes staring into stern green ones.

His stance had not changed, but one arm was outstretched, the other still tucked behind his back. He held out an item, silently offering it to the man kneeling before him.

“I would not have planned an uprising to free everyone, nor would I have attempted to destroy a weapon that could have killed millions by risking my life or anyone else’s.”

Anger filled eyes turned soft.

“Then again, I am not you.”

The apparition then lifted his gaze and stared straight ahead, almost as if he could see something that the other man could not.

The kneeling man gazed at his friend for a few moments more, before wiping unshed tears from his eyes.

He looked up, expecting for Dimitri to still be there, forever staring, judging his every action and soul.

He was alone.

For the first time since receiving it, he closely inspected the item that was given to him by the apparition.

It was a locket in the shape of a heart.

_As long as you live, the Heart of this Army can never be broken._

He presses the locket against his forehead, and began to sob, wails echoing in the small room.


End file.
